I cleaned the bathroom and the toilet
felt relieved that I had cut nails yesterday
but now my fingertips look swollen and bald
From nowhere a clip of skin came off from right hand’s index finger
I let it hang for a while
Picked up, emptied up polythenes from the table
which welcome everything
rotten vegetables, clothes, masks, half eaten biscuit packets
Threw the cauliflower with mould on its head
a parallel sneaked in my silence—
bougainvillea wig over a tree-top
My mother was washing clothes
I was silent and cleaning
dreaded if my anger would escape my lips
and perch upon my mother’s heart
It was her work to clean the table, bathroom, toilet, wash-basins,
kitchen, flooding-eroding-cabinets
I knew it was not her work
I kept silent, cleaned and wondered if it’s my work
or my father’s
As I scrubbed the floor
As the sponge struck the wall
As something watery full of disgust and filth and stench
came flying at me
I knew I hated it
I stopped for the disgust that banged on my head
I stopped for this was not the first time I was cleaning
I stopped for this won’t be the last, Sisyphean work
Water Soap Towel, I loved them
for wiping away the momentary disgust and mess
fingers that shovelled blocks of rice in my mouth
had felt through the sticky mass of hair jammed in the basin
that stickiness had resemblance to the slime
that grew over the stems of the flowers
I bought three weeks ago
They are there in the bottle with three weeks old pungent water
I have thrown three flowers, three are left
My mother has washed two loads of clothes, two are left
I have hung one load of clothes to dry, one is left
At 1:30, mummy made fritters
Ask why?
Because I did extra work
Tripti Aggarwal is a PhD scholar working on the dynamics of household labour in Indian society. Her other areas of interest include disability and postcolonial studies. Besides academic interests, she likes to learn about trees, embroider, and be a flȃneur in her crowded city, Delhi.